Differences
by StoryGirl02
Summary: Blair likes the soft sound of Mozart; Chuck prefers rap. That's one of the many reasons that makes them be, just friends.


**Differences**

**

* * *

**She enters his suite turning her nose up at the sound of the hip-hop music coming from his bedroom, the kind he knows that she hates with a passion, and deliberately plays when he wants to piss her off, the kind that talks about making love in a club, or something along those lines.

She slams the bottle of wine down on his empty kitchen bench, sighing as she grabs a glass from the dish-rack, inspecting it to see whether or not it is clean or if he just forgot to tell the maid to wash up again. Honestly, what is the point of spending all that money _(okay, it is Bart's money, she admits, and Chuck would be able to buy a freaking tropical island, name it after himself and marry all the native women without feeling any sort of loss)_ when he always forget to tell the maids and household help exactly what to do, and she always ends up washing up or vaccuming the floors herself?

_-she's there to help him as a friend, and nothing else-_

No matter what her mother or Serena or even _freaking _Gossip Girl might dare to whisper behind her back.

"Blair?" he calls out, his voice sounding faint against the thumping of his music. She winces, rubbing her temples softly with a finger before taking a sip of her water. He can wait. It's not like he's going to die from a cold, and if he does, well that would just be something for the world's medical community to talk about wouldn't it. Something new to cure.

"Just a minute!" she sings out, shaking her head softly, an action that sends her loose brown curls flying. She takes another sip from her drink slowly, pursing her lips as the song changes and a new, faster beat pumps through the suite.

"I'm going to turn the music up if you're not by my bedside in three minutes," he warns, and she can almost sense the fact that he is grinning childishly.

"I'll make sure that I'm there then!" she calls, shaking her head lightly whilst placing her empty glass into the sink. She runs a hand over the blue material of her dress slowly, inhaling.

Blair shakes her head, pushing the nerves away. There's nothing to be nervous about anyway. They are just friends, plain and _simple._ Nothing else, no matter what everyone else thought. They had their chance, and they blew it.

She enters his room turning her nose up at the sight of the hundreds of tissues littered around his beside table, on the floor and the bed. Blair just sighs softly, grabbing the already over-flowing bin of the floor and sweeping the tissues of the bed. The maid can clean the rest of, she's paid to do that anyway.

She settles herself on his bed gently, perched on the edge. She can never get to comfortable around him, never tie her hair up and cry during sad movies, because life as Chuck Bass's friend is fragile. You never know when things will change, and if they do whether it will be good or bad.

Blair rubs her temples softly, feeling a headache already start to form from the thumping of the music. He notices this, and grabs the cd player remote from where she suspects he had been hiding it in hopes that she couldn't find it, and switches the device, effectivly ending the thumping and fast-paced rap.

She doesn't know why he even listens to that crap anyway, blows his money on stupid cd's with names like Redemption and Gangster Hustle.

_(Though he has enough money to do whatever he likes, of course)_

But wouldn't he prefer the classical sounds of Mozart, or Wagner? The soft sweeping music that gradually filled the air until it invaded all of your senses and took over your body, instead of that horribe sounding thing that could barely even be considered to be music. The way that the notes just practically played themselves on the piano, and the fact that every song related to a different feeling, another emotion to be unlocked.

But no, instead of that he prefered to listen to people rap about being hustlers and players.

It was just one of their growing number of differences, a thing that unfortunatley was growing every day.

"Why do you even listen to that?" she complains, sighing softly.

"Well I like it," he argues back, sitting up in his bed and crossing his arms. He smiles a little bit, the corners of his impeccable, perfect mouth rising. "It reminds me of you."

"How so?" she counters, shaking the bottle of medicine in front of his pale, sickly face. He shies away at the sight of it, pursing his lips.

"I think you should remember, it was your first time after all. The limo has never felt so good." He winks suggestively, and even though he looks disgusting and his nose is so, so red in contrast to his pale face, she can't help but think that he has never ever looked so sexy. But those thoughts are bad thoughts, definitely _not we-had-something-in-the-past-but-now-we're-just-friends _thoughts. More like _we-had-something-in-the-past-but-now-we're-just-friends-but-i-want-him-more-than-ever-but-i-deny-it_ thoughts.

She shakes her head, mimicking the face he makes as he swallows the pink-coloured medicine. "Honestly, you can be so disgustingly crude at times Bass."

Chuck's shoulder lift up in a half-shrug, his hands fiddling with the ridiculous bow he insists on wearing even though he is clad in striped pyjamas and old bed socks, his hair a mess. "Can't help it, sorry," he says, switching on the large, flat-screen television that seems to sparkling that even she has to admit she is jealous of. She nudges him lightly in the ribs, gesturing him to move over before she makes herself comfortable in the bed, sighing softly.

Her feet make their way down to where the pants of his pyjamas have ridden up and the skin has been exposed. She places her cold feet lightly against his leg, and waits for the reaction.

He hisses. "Blair, your feet are freaking freezing!" he exclaims, shifting away from her. She misses the heart and contact almost instantly, but shakes the thought away with a soft nod of her head.

_Bad thoughts, bad thoughts._

"Can't help it sorry," she says, mimicking his earlier words while she snatches the remote from him and turns of the televison, abrubtley ending the violence and gore that had been splattering on the screen.

"I was watching that," he points out, half-scowling.

"Well, I have something to ask you."

"And?" he says, making a face at her. "Please continue, you're only wasting _precious _seconds of my life here."

"Why exactly does that music reminds me of you?" she asks, biting down hard on her lower lip.

"I should hope that you remember," he answered teasingly, smirking. "Does the name Victrolia ring any bells inside that pretty little head of yours?" he asks, grinning childishly.

She longs to smack him and walk out of the apartment, but instead she just wrinkles her nose softly and answers, "That was a one time thing, Chuck, and you know that. Stop bringing it up, or I'll be forced to do something that I really don't want to do."

"And that is?" he crosses his arms and tries to look authoritative, but that really doesn't work when his nose is running and his lips are cracked. It's a surprisingly thing that he even would let her see him in this state, honestly, let the perfect imagine of perfect Charles Bass be shattered, even if it was only her.

She sighs softly, burying her head into his spare pillow. "Kiss you so you would shut up," she mutters out with a groan. She regrets saying it the second it has escaped her mouth. She never has been on for thinking before she spoke after all, and that only proves truer the more amount of time she spends around him.

He chuckles softly. "Funny, Waldorf, a real side-splitter."

She fakes a soft smile. "I thought so."

If only he knew that she hadn't been joking, and even though he looked like Death itself, she wouldn't have cared a single bit if only she could press her lips to his for even just a second.

But she shakes her head, and turns the televison on, settling in further into the bed as Breakfast at Tiffany's starts out, Chuck groaning loudly.

There was too many differences between them, after all.

Just friends; no matter how much she longed after him.

* * *

**This isn't set in any particular season, maybe either the end of S1, or during S2? Just a silly little thing that was thought up randomly. But reviews would be nice, yes? :)**


End file.
